


Harem

by randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arus is not part of the Galaxy Alliance when Zarkon invades.  What happens to the space explorers when they come across a distress signal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This work would probably not exist if it weren't for Spubba, who tossed ideas around with me and helped me immeasurably.
> 
> Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron and all characters therein. (Toei Animation owns Hyakuju Oh Go-Lion.)

The torches flickered low in the wall sconces.  Some had guttered out entirely, leaving long stretches of corridor lost in the shadows, illuminated only by faint starshine through the high windows.  Harel was edgy as he paced off his allotted shift near the sultan’s suite, more so when faced with the lightless halls.  _The sultan’s rooms have a fine source of light that never sputters or dies,_ he thought plaintively.  _Why won’t they just use it in the rest of the palace?  It’s so much more efficient than these dull, smoky… burnt out torches._   Taking a deep breath, he strode on, one hand resting on his sword.  _It isn’t that I’m afraid_ , he thought quickly, feeling his muscles stiffen as he left the last bit of red-tinged light behind.  _It’s not that at all.  I’m just… nervous.  That’s it.  Nervous.  I can’t really see if there’s anyone in the shadows.  Can’t do my duty properly…_

 

Even in the chill desert night, he could feel sweat trickling down his spine.  _What if there_ was _someone lurking in the dark?_ he wondered.  The hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle, and he spun about to catch who was following him…

 

No one.

 

 _Now I’m scaring myself._   Sheepishly, Harel smiled at his actions, running a hand through his shaggy hair, uncovered for once.  _At least inside I don’t have to wear the damn turban_.  For some reason, the loose trousers and billowing shirt beneath his armor felt… odd.  Another thing he could not explain was the uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t belong here.  Not just at the sultan’s palace, as a member of his guard, but on this world.  He put a stop to that line of thought before it could develop into the inevitable pounding headache.  To stave it off, he made himself trace the path of his route in his mind.  _I go down this corridor, right at the next intersection, and then I will have finished half of my circuit…_

 

Circuit… An impossible image filled his mind and he couldn’t shove it away fast enough.  The throbbing began to center just behind his eyes.  But he forced himself on, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the dim glow of lit torches.

 

An hour later, he’d nearly completed his second round, and was heading back to the sultan’s rooms.  The party – or exhibition, or whatever it was – that had been roistering there earlier seemed to have finally quieted.  Trying to tread softly, Harel took a deep breath as he paced the length of hall by the sultan’s suite, and released it gustily when he turned the corner.  Even though the noise had died down, that didn’t mean the sultan was asleep, and he was not above pulling the guard on duty in for… entertainment, especially if his harem or whoever else was with him had left him unsatisfied.

 

Harel had caught the sultan’s eye once before while on guard duty.  He shivered.

 

 _Gods, I hate this place_.

 

The torches that had been lit on his last trip had all burnt out, and he hesitated briefly before squaring his broad shoulders and marching on.  He held the hilt of his sword in a death grip.  Though he knew that the corridor was empty, having passed through it, he thought he could feel eyes boring into his back at every step.

 

The sputtering torch ahead was a beacon, but he made himself maintain his even pace.  Having seen no one for so long, it was rather a shock to see a body just beneath the light.  Cautiously, ready to draw his blade, he approached.  The figure lay half in and half out of the waning circle of light, flickering dimly on pale skin.  Harel slowed further the closer he got, eyes darting to the shadows, ready for an attack.  But no one was hiding, and he returned his attention to the prone form before him.

 

It was a young man, laying facedown on the floor, arms outflung over his head.  In the uncertain light, it was impossible to determine the color of the tangled hair that flowed over his shoulders.  From those slim shoulders, his body tapered to a narrow waist.  His long legs were sprawled.  Except for a brief loincloth, he was naked.  Harel frowned at the curious marks high on one of the boy’s shoulders, stark purple bruises against the white flesh.  Deciding that the boy was no threat, Harel relaxed his grip on his sword, and was about to keel to shake him awake when he noticed the golden armband around one firm bicep.  His lips twisted in disgust as he recognized the gemstones that marked him as a member of the sultana’s harem.

 

He prodded the figure none too gently with the toe of his boot.  “Hey, pretty boy,” he growled.  The youth groaned softly, but did not move, even as Harel nudged him again.  His frown deepened, and he knelt beside the boy anyway.  “C’mon, you can’t just litter up the hall…” He reached out to shake the boy, but recoiled from the chill flesh of his shoulder.  _He’s been laying here for some time if he’s this cold,_ Harel thought, concerned in spite of himself.  _Or he’s injured…_ He could see no obvious wounds, and nothing appeared to be broken.  But the boy’s breathing was rapid and shallow, the pulse in his neck weak under Harel’s thick fingers.

 

Harel leaned back, considering.  One of the sultana’s boy toys, out and about… and obviously in some kind of trouble. He sighed. _I can’t just leave him here.  I’ll have to carry him back to the sultana’s rooms… and hope to all hells that my captain doesn’t ream me a new asshole for abandoning my post.  I wonder what he’s doing here, anyway…_ Steeling himself to touch the cool skin again, he rolled the boy over.  The long limbs flopped bonelessly as Harel scooped him up.

 

Despite being slim, the boy weighed slightly more in his arms than he expected.  Glancing down, from the corner of his eye, he could see the definition of muscle in the other’s chest, could feel it in the legs draped over his arm.  He could just barely make out more bruises on the boy’s chest and neck.  He couldn’t keep his lip from curling in a sneer of revulsion, and walked faster.  _The sooner I get him back to the sultana, the sooner I can get back to my post and be done with it,_ he thought.

 

Pausing in the maze of corridors to readjust the limp burden in his arms, Harel was startled when the boy murmured something unintelligible.  Again, he spared a fleeting look at the boy, his head now resting against Harel’s wide chest instead of dangling over his arm.  In the flickering light and shadows, he was surprised at the maturity of the boy’s face.  _He isn’t a boy_ , Harel realized _.  He’s only a little younger than me._

 

Sighing as he stepped into a welcome pool of light near the sultana’s suite, he shifted the other’s weight again.  “Almost home, now,” he said, not unkindly, and looked down again.

 

A knife, sharp and hot, tried to split his skull open.  He staggered against the wall, unconsciously crushing the young man harder against his chest.  He barely heard the clatter and scrape of his sword against stone, staring down at the handsome face in disbelief.

 

 _Oh, gods.  I know him._

 

As if from a great distance, Harel could feel his mouth working, trying to form a name, right on the tip of his tongue…

 

But it wouldn’t come.

 

The sound of a door creaking open invaded his hearing.  The sultana’s door.  He belonged to the sultana… Through the renewed pounding in his head, he forced himself upright, away from the wall.  _It wouldn’t do for one of the guards to be caught like that,_ he thought vaguely.  He managed the couple of steps to the open door.

 

A boy – of about 12 or 13, but certainly no more – stood in the doorway, blinking up at him.  Even fogged and rumpled from sleep, he was just about the prettiest boy Harel had ever seen.  His mid-brown hair curled into his eyes, over his milky shoulders.  A master artist had placed each feature into his face.  He, too, wore the jeweled armband that denoted him as part of the sultana’s harem, a short loincloth, and a few other adornments that the one in Harel’s arms did not.

 

“What d’you want?” the boy yawned.  Then he focused on the figure Harel carried, and his emerald eyes widened, one small hand covering his mouth.

 

“Please.” Harel had a hard time finding his voice.  _I know him.  I know these boys…_ “Please go get someone… I think he’s sick…” He closed his eyes against the view of these lovely boys he should scorn… boys in the forbidden harem of the sultana…

 

Boys he knew, though he could not say how…

 

“I said, bring him in!” Warm hands tugging on his arm snapped Harel back to himself.  The child’s face was frantic, and it would have been laughable to see him trying to move a man more than twice his size…

 

… if it weren’t for the blinding pain in his head…

 

Harel carried his burden into the sultana’s quarters.  He was trembling all over, but he knew it wasn’t from the physical strain.

 

“What did you do to him?” the small boy demanded, then bit his lip, as if frightened of the answer.  He led Harel through the dark chamber, to another door.

 

“I… I didn’t,” Harel protested.  “I found him like this, in one of the corridors outside of the sultan’s suite…”

 

“The sultan.”  The boy’s voice was emotionless, as flat as the darkness in front of him.

 

Suddenly, there was brilliant light, a flash very like the one in the sultan’s rooms.  Harel swore softly and stood still while his vision cleared, not wanting to harm the young man in his arms by falling on him.  When the spots had disappeared, he saw a small room, hung with velvet and silks and tapestries in blue and green.  A thick carpet in the same shades covered the floor, and was strewn with an abundance of pillows and cushions in many sizes.  Then the boy was at his side, pointing and saying, “Put him down over there.”  Carefully, he laid the unconscious form on the soft cushions as directed.  “Good.  Now get out.”  The child was staring at the still figure, and his eyes were hard and glittering in the bright light.

 

Harel couldn’t wait to comply.  His head pounded so he could hardly think.  But he was unable to stop himself, and peeked back over his shoulder.  The boy knelt down near the pillows to take hold of one limp hand.  Very clearly, he heard him whisper, “My lady, why do you let him?  He only hurts them… the others haven’t even come back yet…” There were tears in his tone now, and he bent to cradle the cold hand against his cheek.

 

Harel fled, nearly running back to the now familiar and welcome darkness of the sultan’s wing.

 

But the disjointed images in his mind were inescapable.

 

***

Voices.

 

Floating in the blackness.

 

“… a trap?”

 

“I agree…”

 

“. . . can you say that? Those people need…”

 

“. . . what do _you_ say?”

  
Long pause.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Crack of doom.

 

***

“Harel? Harel!”

 

The voice calling his name was newly familiar.  Groaning, his head feeling like it would fall off his neck, he managed to prop his eyes open.  Frowning, he asked, he thought quite reasonably, “Why are you upside down, Zalen?”

 

The other guard snorted.  “I should be asking why you’re on the floor, but I won’t.  You look horrible.”

 

Harel blinked up at him.  The floor?  He managed to work out which direction his head should go and sat up, leaning against the wall.  What in all the hells had happened?  Then he remembered.  _Those two beautiful boys… the sultana’s boys…_

 

“I won’t report this to the captain, because you’re obviously sick.”  Zalen made no movement to help him.  “Go, tell him you’re not feeling well, and have him take you off duty tonight, so you can recover.”

 

“No,” Harel said quietly, closing his eyes as the word echoed painfully in his head.  “No, I’ll be fine by tonight.”  He didn’t want to get into trouble, not so soon after having been given his post.

 

He heard the clank of Zalen’s armor as he shrugged.  “As you please.  Just get going before someone else comes.  I don’t want to have to report you.”

 

Harel levered himself to his feet.  “Thank you,” he said, then staggered away, past the sultan’s door, in the faint pink light of the sunrise.  With no guidance from his mind, his feet took him through the winding corridors, out into the courtyard.  Steadier now, he crossed to the guardhouse, his only thought to find his doss and sleep.  He could not react fast enough when the guardhouse door opened, and nearly ran over the man who exited.

 

It was his captain.

 

Harel snapped to attention.  “Beg pardon, sir!”  Captain Yurak had the sultan’s ear and favor, because he knew his job and did it well.  The last thing Harel wanted was to be brought to the sultan’s attention.  Again.

The captain frowned severely at him.  His sharp black eyes missed nothing, and his weathered face showed nothing he didn’t want to show.  “Harel?  Are you sick?  You look pale.”

 

“No, sir.  I’m fine.”  Harel stared over Yurak’s left shoulder, unable to quite face him as he spoke the lie.

 

The captain studied him, and Harel could feel himself start to sweat.  _If he asks if something happened last night, I’m not going to be able to lie,_ he thought frantically.  He didn’t know why it was so important to keep the encounter with the sultana’s boys a secret, but suddenly, it was.  But he kept his face as impassive as he could, and wished like hells that the captain wouldn’t ask.

 

And for once, it seemed that the gods were on his side, as his captain nodded briefly and strode away.  Relief flooded him, and he nearly collapsed.  Before he could do more than sag, he quickly made his way inside, and found his bed.

 

But the sleep he desired eluded him.  The shift had just changed, and the guardhouse became a beehive of activity, as the guards just relieved returned and sought a meal.  Then they all tramped into the bunkhouse and divested themselves of their armor, clanging and banging.  Through it all, Harel kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply, willing sleep to claim him.  But the boys haunted him, even after all fell quiet.

 

After the other guards had fallen asleep, Harel opened his eyes.  Sleep was a lost cause, as it so often had been since he’d arrived here.

 

He wished he could remember if it had been a problem before.

 

He wished he could remember back before the two or three months he’d been here.

 

But thinking like that would merely bring back the headache that had receded to a very dull throb.  _Maybe some activity will make me tired enough to sleep,_ he thought.  But he knew it wouldn’t.  It hadn’t worked yet, any of the times he’d tried.  Quietly, he got up, and pulled on his boots.  His sheer size made it impossible for him to tiptoe out of the bunkhouse, but he stepped as softly as he could, holding his sword so it wouldn’t clatter.

 

The bright morning sun made him blink.  The day was already uncomfortably warm, and it would only get hotter.  The white walls of the palace offered some shade but little relief.  The relative coolness inside the dark halls of the palace itself was welcome.  He walked, paying no attention to the myriad of servants fetching and carrying around him.  The walls all looked the same.  He was lost in his thoughts…

 

And he found himself outside the sultana’s door.

 

 _What am I doing here?_ he asked himself, mindlessly studying the pattern carved on the door.  _Why did I come back?_

 

But he knew the answer.

 

 _I have to find out more.  I have to find out who I am.  All of the strange things in my head… are they real?  Do I really know those two, even though the little one didn’t seem to know me?  Can they help me remember my past?_   He forced the pain in his head away, tried to ignore the sharp edges it cut into his mind as it returned.

 

Straightening his shoulders and absently tucking his shirt into his sash, he knocked.

 

Within moments, the small boy had opened the door.  Recognition and dislike flashed in his eyes.  “What do you want?” he asked coldly.

 

There was a faint tinkling of small bells behind the boy, and he suddenly looked slightly ashamed.  A woman spoke, her voice low and sensual.  “Angel, you need to be more polite.” She sounded amused.

 

“Yes, my lady,” the boy – Angel? – mumbled, looking down.  _It suited him_ , Harel thought, through the pounding headache.

 

“Now, say you’re sorry, and ask him to come in.” 

 

“Yes, my lady.”  He looked up at Harel, his expression less than graceful.  “I apologize for my rudeness,” he muttered grudgingly.  “Please come in.”  He stepped back, opening the door wide enough to admit Harel.

 

Gravely, Harel replied, “Thank you.”  He managed to enter the sultana’s rooms without stumbling, a major achievement, he thought, considering the pain he was in.

 

The woman laughed, and he shivered.  She didn’t sound cruel, but her voice was the kind that always set men to trembling, a voice as smooth and rich as… butterscotch.

 

Butterscotch? What in…

 

“That didn’t sound like much of an apology to me, my Angel,” she teased, resting one hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder.  “You’ll have to practice.”

 

“Yes, my lady.”  The boy’s eyes were resentful, and he stood staring at the floor, anywhere but at either the woman or Harel.  She smiled down at the one she called “Angel,” seemingly content just to look at him.

 

Harel could easily see why she’d want to.  The boy was even more appealing by day than by night.  Curling brown locks, cheeks pinkened from embarrassment, long, almost girlish lashes framing eyes the color of a forest…

 

The woman, too, was young and beautiful.  Her hair was the color of the finest sand, flowing down her back in waves, except for the braid coiled on top of her head like a coronet.  She had an anklet of small golden bells, visible over one dainty slippered foot, and a necklace, but no other jewelry.  She wore red, red silk and a red gauzy veil, perhaps not the best choice, for it did not really suit her complexion.  Blue would have been a better choice, blue to match the icy shade of her eyes.  But her eyes were warm and sparkling as she gazed at Angel.  She wasn’t much taller than her harem boy, though she was older.  She finally tore her eyes away from the boy, and her glance flickered to Harel.  Her face froze momentarily.

 

Belatedly, he realized that the woman was the sultana, and bowed low.  “My lady,” he said by way of apology.  “I have been assigned to your quarters today.”  He straightened as soon as was respectful, before he fainted.

 

Harel knew, from having overheard the captain’s complaints one evening, that few guards wanted to take the duty in the sultana’s rooms.  They didn’t want to watch the amusements she demanded from her harem.  But the guards were ordered expressly by the sultan, to make sure nothing untoward happened, and of course, no one could refuse the duty.  Harel knew, though, that if he were to take the duty from the guard already stationed there, there would be no complaints, and he might even be owed a favor.  That could come in handy…

 

He wondered why she still had said nothing, why she still studied him with that odd expression in her cold eyes… almost fearful.  He waited uneasily.  _It was almost as if she was deciding the best way to react_ , he thought.

 

“There is already a guard,” she said finally, her tone scornful.  “Does my husband no longer think one guard is sufficient?”

 

“No, my lady, not that.”  He thought fast, difficult as that was becoming.  “Perhaps the captain has a more important task for your current guard.”  Smiling shyly, he continued, “I have only been here a little while; perhaps he thought this duty would be suitable for someone so new.”  He waited again for her response.  Why was she so suspicious?

 

Her knuckles were white on Angel’s shoulder, and he could see the boy trying not to wince in pain as her nails dug into his flesh.  Then her hand relaxed, and she smiled, but it was cold and brittle.  “Of course.  Guard!” she called.  Harel did not recognize the armored man who appeared from another room, the doorway hidden behind a drape.  “This man has been sent to replace you.”  Then she turned away, pulling the boy with her.

 

The guard looked at him doubtfully.  Quietly, Harel said, “I’ll take this duty.  You take mine tonight.  All right?”  The other nodded, and made good his escape.  Such trades were commonplace, and everyone knew to stay out of the captain’s sight.

 

“So, guard.” The sultana’s voice startled his attention back to her.  She had seated herself on a cushion, drawing the boy down to half sit, half sprawl over her lap.  She ran her fingers through his brown hair, but she was not paying attention to what her hand was doing.  She was watching Harel very closely.  “Has Captain Yurak, in his infinite wisdom, told you what you are expected to do while you are here… protecting me from my harem?” Her tone was scathing.

 

Shaking his head was definitely out of the question.  “No, my lady, he did not.”  He fell easily into the waiting stance of a soldier, wondering what she was going to do next.

 

The boy’s eyes were wary as he looked up at Harel though his thick lashes.  He wore a collar today, Harel noticed, made from thin links of gold, long enough to trail down his back.  The boy trembled whenever the sultana’s fingers brushed it.  His loincloth was of light green, made of silk, he guessed, and his armband was too small to be a bracelet for Harel’s thick wrist.  It bore the jewels that the sultana had chosen to mark her harem: one sparkling iridescent and one glowing gold, with a band of dark brown down the center.  The boy did not move at all as the sultana stroked his head, as if he knew it would be useless to resist, but he did not seem to enjoy it, either.

 

“Very well, here is what _I_ expect you to do.”  She continued to play with Angel’s hair, but her voice was very sharp.  “I expect you to do the duty my husband has demanded, without complaint, but above all, without interfering in what I wish to do.”  Her eyes were truly icy now as she stared up at him.  “I was raised a princess.  I know my duty, distasteful though it is, and I would not compromise it, despite what _he_ thinks.  It is only through me that he controls this planet, in any case,” she added, almost to herself.  She shook her head, and continued, “This is my domain.  I expect you to treat my lovelies well, and if you are caught abusing any of them, I will have you flogged.  Or worse.  Is that understood?”

 

Harel swallowed.  “Yes, my lady.”  This was looking like a bad idea more and more.  Then his resolve firmed, despite the agony that was his head, despite the subtle glare the boy in the sultana’s arms gave him.  I need to know.  “I understand.”

 

“Good.”  She hesitated, perhaps not having expected his ready agreement.  “There is a chamber back there,” she pointed in the direction from which the other guard had come, “where you may wait.  My other lovelies have not yet awoken.”  When he did not move, she snapped, “Do you think you need to watch me with my Angel? With a child?” Harel saw the boy flinch.

 

“Of course not, my lady.”  Harel bowed again, and made his way in the direction of the waiting chamber, walking very carefully, trying to betray no weakness.  He could feel her eyes on him the entire way, until the swish of the drape hid him from view.

 

Once out of sight, he slumped against the wall, gasping at the pain in his head.  It had taken every ounce of his will to speak with her, with that boy sitting in her lap.  Angel…

 

“Angels,” he murmured, as the blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision overwhelmed him.

 

***

“I don’t like it.”

 

He sighed.  “I know you don’t.  But Keith has made the decision…”

 

Arms wrapped around him from behind, and he leaned back into the embrace.  “I have such a bad feeling about this…” The words were whispered into his back, and his heart froze at the fear in them.

 

He turned around, looking down into the other’s bright blue eyes.  “Hey, don’t say that,” he said, cupping one cheek.  “You’re scaring me…”

 

“Not as much as I’m scaring myself…”

 

***

“Angel, love…”

 

“My lady?”  The boy responded instantly to the sultana’s thoughtful call.

 

“I… what do you think of this guard?” She spoke quickly, as if she were afraid of the words coming from her own mouth.

 

“I don’t like him.”  The distaste in his voice was evident.

 

She seemed surprised.  “Why not?” She stopped playing with his hair, and looked down into his beautiful face.

 

“I don’t know.  I just don’t.”  He frowned, rubbing his forehead.

 

“Are you afraid of him? He is quite a bit bigger than some of the other guards…”

 

He shook his head.  “No… no, my lady, that’s not it.  I don’t know why.”  His frown grew more intense.

 

“I wonder why Yurak assigned him here,” she mused, staring at the floor.  “I thought the witch told him…” She shook her head.  “Has _she_ been here yet, to look at them?” Her voice was bitter.

 

“No, my lady.”

 

“Damn him!” she ground out.  “He had no right…”

 

“My girl, as your husband, he has every right.”

 

The sultana’s eyes flew up at the soft voice.  She urged the boy off her lap, and stood, glaring.  “You took your time, witch.”

 

The witch shrugged, which just incensed the sultana further, and well she knew it.  She didn’t look much like a witch, but the sultana could feel the electric shiver of mystic power rolling off her.  She was of about medium height, with long, very straight milky blond hair, some of which fell forward to frame her face.  Her skin was also very pale.  She wore a short-sleeved dress of some indeterminate color between tan and gray, and carried a gnarled and twisted staff as tall as she.  She would have been pretty, except for the slightly pointed canine teeth that protruded over her pink lips, and the cold, absolutely yellow eyes, without iris or pupil.

 

“I sent for you hours ago,” the sultana said slowly, trembling with her rage.  “Where have you been?  They need you!”

 

“I came when I could, my lady.”  She mocked the title, making it sound a farce.  “Where are they?”

 

Jingling, the sultana led the way to the small chamber allotted to her harem, hung with draperies in calming blues and greens.  She had taken hold of Angel again, and was dragging him along, forcing him to trot to keep up.  “Despite your warnings, he gave them alcohol!  The guards had to carry them back here.  I… I’m not even sure if there’s anything else wrong with them, they haven’t woken up at all.”

 

The witch shrugged again, limping after her.  “Well, if they die, it’s no loss.”

 

The boy turned white, and tried to slip from the sultana’s grasp, but she tightened her grip almost instinctively.  He stopped struggling, and looked down at the floor, trying to hide his face.

 

The sultana fidgeted at the side of the cushions, as the witch knelt down to examine the three young men who lay there unconscious.  Two of them had thick midnight hair, one’s long and unruly, the other’s slightly shorter and neater.  The third youth was different, his hair a rich chestnut color.  All were handsome, though each was different.  They all lay shivering, even in the growing heat of the day, their faces pinched in pain.  When one twitched and touched another, both moaned in pain.  The witch studied them, feeling the chill of their skin.  She opened one’s eyes to look at his pupils, then snorted and stood.  “They’ll be fine,” she said, and started toward the door.  “Just let them sleep it off, and I’ll tell my prince not to give them any more alcohol, but otherwise…”

 

The boy could contain himself no longer.  “How can you do this!” he shouted, his outrage echoing in the small chamber.  “Look at them!  Look at their bruises!” Indeed, all three had black and blue marks all over their bodies.  “They’re not fine!  They’re sick!  They need help!”  He turned to the sultana, tears in his eyes.  “My lady, help them,” he whispered hopelessly.

 

The sultana’s face was stricken, and she could only stare at her lovely boys, chewing her lip.  The witch snorted again, and left. 

 

“Haggar!” the sultana called angrily, making her decision.  "Haggar! Come back here!"  But the witch was gone, the outer door closed.

 

“My lady?” She turned at the small voice, teary and scared.  Her heart broke at the tears in her Angel’s eyes, the fright on his face.  “Will… will they die?  Please, my lady, don’t let them die!”

 

She immediately embraced him, holding him to her tightly. “No, Pidge, my Angel, I won’t let them die.”

 

Neither of them noticed the tall shadow in the doorway, stepping back, eyes locked on the three prone figures on the cushions.

 

Harel had found himself on the floor, in the small room to which the sultana had directed him, tears running down his face.  He couldn’t say why, couldn’t remember the dreams he knew he’d had, and it made him upset.  Damn it, that’s why I’m here! he thought.  I need to know who I am…

 

Angry voices, not too far away had brought him to his feet.  The young harem boy was yelling, then the sultana herself.  He stumbled toward the door, through which he’d carried the young man he’d found last night.

 

Saw the three young men there now.

  
Heard the sultana’s words.

 

Pidge.

 

His eyes traveled desperately over the three pale faces on the cushions.  Names popped into his mind.

 

Keith.  Sven.  Lance.

 

He sagged against the wall of the main room in the sultana’s suite, overwhelmed by the names, but not knowing why.

 

“I know them,” he whispered, almost soundlessly.  “Oh, gods, I know them all.  How?”


	2. Chapter 2

***

The sultana hesitated only long enough to calm the boy’s tears and direct him to stay with his companions.  Then she swept out of the sleeping chamber, her face hard, eyes glittering angrily. She found the new guard standing just outside.  “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

 

Harel bowed slightly.  “I heard shouting, my lady, and came to…”

 

“Never mind.” She dismissed his explanation with a wave.  “Come with me.”

 

“Yes, my lady.”  Without a further word, he followed as she stormed out.

 

He had no idea of where she was leading him, up corridors and down.  He kept pace with her easily enough, despite the pain in his head.

 

In a distant corner of his mind, he wondered over the names that had simply popped into his awareness.  He knew who was who, even though he hadn’t seen the two dark haired ones before.  Sven was the largest of the three, only slightly shorter than Harel himself, but slimmer, a bit less muscular.  His black hair had been neatly cut _.   Serious, centered, calm but intense, a cold rage when aroused.  His accent, softly lilting, very Swedish…_

 

Harel bit his lip to keep from making a pained sound.  Where on Arus was this Swedish place?

 

Keith was dark haired as well, but his was far longer, flowing down over his shoulders in thick waves.  His skin was golden in tone, much darker than Sven, who was pale.  He was a bit smaller overall than Sven, but obviously fit and strong.  He looked young, his face innocent.  _Optimistic, capable despite his youth, always very much in control of himself_ …

 

Where were these thoughts coming from?  He bit harder, wanting it to stop…

 

Why did something tug at his heart when he thought of the third?  Was it just because he’d carried the boy?  _Not a boy_ , Harel reminded himself.  Thick reddish-brown hair, tangling down over his shoulders.  His skin was light, but not nearly as light as Sven’s.  He was Keith’s size, Keith’s shape, but there the similarities ended.  _Rebellious, overconfident, cocky, yet sometimes insecure beneath it all, a study of contradictions…_

 

The sultana’s sudden halt forced Harel out of his disturbing thoughts, and he was grateful.  Glancing around, he saw they were in a little frequented section of the palace.  It was dark despite the large arching windows of the corridor.  The door before which they stood was plain, uncarven, with nothing to tell them to whom the rooms belonged.

 

She stood, staring at the door, for a long moment.  Just as Harel took a breath to ask why they were here, she lifted her chin in determination and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.  Harel shook his head at her rudeness, but trailed after her.

 

The light was no brighter inside.  The windows were covered with heavy drapes.  The only source of light was a single dimly flickering candle on the far side of the room.  Harel stopped, not wanting to stumble over any furniture in the shadows while his eyes adjusted, but the sultana strode forward fearlessly.

 

“Haggar!” she called angrily.  “Haggar!  I know you’re here, witch!”

 

Harel shivered, even though the room was close and very warm.  The witch?  He’d heard of her, of course – who in the sultan’s palace did not know of the witch?  She was reputed to be very powerful, very old and wickedly wise.  The populace feared her more than they feared the sultan.  The sultan could order their deaths at any instant, true, but the witch could steal their souls…

 

“My lady.”  Both intruders started at the voice coming from the darkest shadows.  Harel spun about, hand on his sword, and managed not to send anything crashing to the floor.  He could only stand transfixed by the glowing yellow eyes.  The sultana scowled, as the witch asked, “What are you doing here?  I did as you asked…”

 

“No, you did not!” the sultana protested.  “They require medicine.  They need care.  They…”

 

“They need to be kept away from your husband, you would say?”  The voice was smug.

 

The sultana closed her mouth over the words she had been about to say.  “Yes,” she bit out.

 

“You will have to work that out with him, princess.” And that easily, the witch dismissed the matter.  “If you would be so kind as to leave…” she said pointedly.

 

“No.  The alcohol is still acting against the drug in their bodies.”

 

A heavy sigh drifted from the shadows.  “My lady, there is… nothing I can do for them.”

 

But the pause as the witch spoke told a different tale.  The sultana leapt upon it eagerly.  “There is.  I’m not leaving until you agree to heal them.”

 

“Very well,” Haggar growled.  Harel could hear jars and bottles being opened and occasionally sniffed.  Then there was a grunt of satisfaction, and within moments, a small pouch was flung at the sultana, who caught it easily.  “Mix that into a goblet of wine.  Give each of your boys no more than three swallows.  That will stop the reaction of the drug and the alcohol.”

 

“In wine?” the sultana asked, confused.  “But…”

 

“Wine is the only liquid that powder dissolves in,” the witch interrupted, now quite vexed.  “It is very strong, and should not be mixed with any other potion.  Do not give them the other for the next couple days, until this one has gotten out of their systems, or the reaction will be much, much more severe.  Fatal.  Now, leave.”  Her tone brooked no argument.

 

“Thank you,” the sultana said, a bit resentfully, and turned to leave.

 

Harel’s eyes had finally adjusted, but he wished they hadn’t.  He kept thinking he saw… things… in the shadows…

 

“Always a pleasure, Romelle,” Haggar mocked.  “And so nice to see you again, Harel.”

 

Harel froze for an instant, his blood cold, then turned to face those disturbing glowing eyes again.

 

But they were gone, and he could sense that, other than him, the room was empty.  Shaking his head, he lengthened his stride to catch up with the sultana.

 

He had never, never seen the witch before this day… He was sure of it.

 

Why, then, were her words so disturbing?

 

***

Consciousness slowly slipped back into his body, bringing pain with it.  Before he opened his eyes, he tried to determine where the pain was coming from.  After only an instant, he gave up, because everything seemed to hurt.  Every muscle in his body ached, his head pounded mercilessly.

 

His ass throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

 

He couldn’t remember anything before this waking moment.  His life was a bleary haze of pain, with chills and fever running through his veins.  Each shiver made his abused muscles protest.  He groaned, and the sound was loud in his ears.

 

“Lance?”  Very lightly, something stroked his forehead, and he twitched.  At least the voice was pitched low enough not to hurt.

 

Lance?  Was that his name? 

 

Memory returned only grudgingly.  Not that there was much to remember.  “Pidge?” he croaked, daring to open one eye.  The light was too bright, and he closed it again with a whimper.

 

“Lance, my sweetheart.”  Another gentle touch on his face, different.  The voice was quiet, husky, but distinctly feminine.  “Drink this.  I know that you’re hurting, but this will help it.”  The hand lifted his head up slightly, and he whimpered again.  The slightest movement, the merest touch caused almost unbearable agony.  He felt the curve of a goblet at his lips, and forced them open to let the liquid trickle in.  The goblet tipped away, as he swallowed the bitter brew and made a face.  “Now, a little more,” the voice coaxed, and he complied.  Almost immediately, the pain started to recede.  “Very good.”  He felt himself being lowered again, and the soft fingers were stroking his cheek.  “Very good, sweetheart.  Now just go to sleep.”

 

Before the darkness claimed him again, he heard the rustle of movement, and a breeze of her perfume told him she’d moved away.  At the edge of his hearing, she whispered, “Keith, love, wake up…”

 

There was nothing.

 

Then there were the dreams.  He had them almost every time he slept.

 

He could never remember the dreams, but he was always left with a feeling of loss when he awoke, a feeling that everything that seemed so _wrong_ had been explained.

 

This time was no different.  When Lance opened his eyes again, the room was darkening and cooling slightly, but the heat from the day was still trapped.  He sat up easily and stretched his long limbs, finding with some relief that his muscles no longer ached.  Then he looked around the room, eyes narrowing.  Keith and Sven were still asleep, curled about each other.  Pidge was nowhere to be found, but was probably with the sultana in the outer room, or perhaps her bedroom.

 

 _Something feels wrong,_ he thought.  _I feel… sharper, somehow.  Odd._

 

He climbed to his feet a bit unsteadily, and was reminded that all was not well as the action reawakened the pain in his ass.  Closing his eyes, he could see the sultan again, his lip curled into a sneer, his long white hair tied back into a tail, falling forward over his shoulder with his quick movements.  His pale blue skin had been sheened with sweat, his red shirt soaked with it as he stripped it off, revealing his powerful chest…

 

Trying hard to keep the memory at bay, Lance opened his eyes and crossed his arms protectively over his breast, clutching hard at his opposite shoulders.  Any second, it felt like his chest would cave in; he felt so hollow inside.

 

Was this all there was?  He could only remember the past few months; the rest of his life was blank wall, as if it had never been.

He wished that the previous night had never been, but it was so vivid in his mind, the memory of pain too fresh to forget.  It had happened so many times…

 

The sultan had already been well intoxicated when he burst into the sultana’s quarters, with several guards in tow.  The girl who had been tapping a drum dropped it with a gasp.  Pidge had been dancing to that beat, while Lance and Keith and Sven had lounged by the sultana, but he stopped, eyes reflecting blank terror.  Slowly, he’d backed away.  The sultana leapt to her feet in outrage, and Pidge ducked behind her, shivering.  Before anything could be said, though, the sultan gestured and the guards had immediately taken hold of the three older boys, and begun dragging them to the door.

 

The sultana then threw herself at her husband, spitting curses, as he took away her harem.  Laughing, he shoved her away easily.  She had landed hard on the floor.  “Since you enjoy your little dancer so much, Romelle,” he said, his voice haughty, “keep him!  However, I will take these three in lieu.  When you come to your senses and give _him_ to me, I’ll return the others.”

 

The last things Lance had seen before being hauled away were Pidge and the girl crouching beside the sultana, Pidge’s face white and horrified as he stared after them.

 

“Damn you, Lotor!” the sultana had screamed, her cry echoing down the corridor.  “Damn you!”  The sultan’s mocking laughter was the only response.

 

The alcohol he’d been forced to consume made Lance’s memories fuzzy after that, or they were missing altogether.  But the fear and pain he’d felt, sobbing, scrabbling panicked on the floor, on his knees, as the sultan’s strong hands held his hips… that was clear.

 

 _There has to be more to life than this,_ he thought.  Tears he did not want to let fall burned his eyes.  _There_ has _to be._

 

He hated seeing that look on Pidge’s face, that look of mindless fear.  Pidge knew what the sultan wanted the three of them to do, knew that if the sultan ever took him away, he’d be expected to do the same, and it terrified him.  It frightened all of them.  The three of them had determined that it would never happen as long as they could prevent it.  Without even discussing it, they’d all decided that Pidge was to be protected as much as possible, especially from the sultan.

 

He shuddered in revulsion, and, trying to ignore the still lingering aches, crossed to the door.  He nearly ran over the girl when she appeared in the doorway.  He had an impression of blond hair…

 

She looked up at him in surprise, her blue eyes wide.  They widened even more as he dropped to one knee, head bowed.  “I’m sorry, my lady,” he whispered, his voice rusty.  “Forgive me…”

 

“Get up!” she hissed, glancing around nervously.  “Quick, get up!” She reached out to grasp his shoulder, but stopped before she touched him.

 

Her voice made him raise his gaze in shock.  It wasn’t the sultana!  Her face was too… young, too open to be the sultana, her voice too light.  She wore an outfit of gauze and silk in the palest shade of pink, no more than a blush on white fabric.  It was a color the sultana would never choose for herself, he knew.  He scrambled to his feet.  Now he saw that she wore the armband of a palace servant.  Like the sultana’s, her hair was blond, but slightly lighter, though her eyes were the same blue.  The hair was tamed into a thick braid, falling halfway down her back.  Alli; the name drifted in his uncertain memory.  She was one of the sultana’s servants, had played the drum last night as Pidge danced.  “I’m sorry,” he said again.  “I thought…”

 

She gave him a lopsided smile.  “I know.  It happens a lot, especially if you just look quick.”  Her tone was warm, and conveyed understanding.  She eyed him, taking in his pale skin marred with the purpled bruises, the way he stood, unconsciously hugging himself, his loincloth of dark blue silk stained and rumpled.  The smooth play of muscles in his arms and chest as he clutched himself entranced her for a moment.  He was slightly taller than she, but the way he had his head bowed, long reddish-brown hair hiding his face, made him appear smaller and slighter than he was.

 

“You were going to bathe,” she stated, suddenly knowing.  When he looked at her again, she noticed his eyes were the same shade as his loincloth.  “The sultana asked me to make sure you all were all right.  She is in her bedroom with the little one.  Go on, take your bath,” she ordered, not unkindly.  “I’m sure she will understand.” She moved aside to let him pass.

 

Gratefully, he nodded and nearly ran to the bathing room.

 

Walking carefully on the damp tiled floor, he let his loincloth fall and stepped into the warm water.  The tiles surrounded a pool, made shallow on one end with a raised platform, dropping off to a depth of about six feet at the other.  Lance very briefly considered immersing himself in the deep end and letting himself drown, then dismissed the idea.  Someone would be in soon enough to find him, and the punishment for attempted suicide wasn’t one he wanted to contemplate.  Death was too permanent a solution… even though, right now, it seemed appealing.  Normally, he’d never even consider it…

 

Normally?  This _was_ normal.  This was his life.

 

The water circulated constantly, cloudy replaced with fresh by some unseen mechanism.  Gingerly, he settled himself into the water, hissing as it stung abrasions he hadn’t been aware of.  He dunked himself momentarily, wanting to erase the memory of the sultan’s touch.

 

He sat up, head and shoulders above the water, wrapping his arms around his knees.  For a long time, he stared at nothing, letting the room go hazy and indistinct around him.

 

 _Was this really all there was?  Couldn’t there be another way of life, one filled with adventure and comradeship… without fear, without pain…_

 

Quiet splashes distracted him.  He shook his head and looked up to see they had belonged to Keith and Sven.  Keith’s dark brown eyes were ringed with shadows, his lips swollen, and he whimpered softly as he lowered himself down.  Beneath his natural golden color, he was pale.  Sven was in little better shape.  He made no sound, but Lance could see his face stiffen as he sat.  His eyes were the color of slate, and just as hard, emotionless, until he looked at Keith, shivering despite the warmth of the water.  His whole demeanor softened at the sight, and muttering softly in… another language, he reached out to draw Keith to him, just as Lance made the same movement.  The three huddled together, arms wrapped tightly around each other, heads bent, touching. 

 

It took all of Lance’s will to keep from crying, knowing that Keith often bore the brunt of the sultan’s abductions, knowing the way they always wounded his heart, if not his body.  But the sultan had not used him last night…

 

It was a near thing, though.

 

Now, Lance wondered if his sacrifice had hurt Keith more than it helped him.

 

Brokenly, Keith whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

 

Lance tightened his embrace, while Sven nuzzled Keith’s cheek.  “Why should you be sorry?” he asked, his accent softly lilting.

 

Sobs shook Keith’s frame.  “I… I just get the feeling… somehow… this is all my fault…”

 

“Keith, please stop,” Lance said plaintively.  He rested his forehead against the side of Keith’s head, kissing his cheek, wanting to comfort him.  “This can’t possibly be your fault.  We’ve… we’ve always done this, remember?”  The words stuck in his throat, though, and he had to force them out.

 

Sven snorted.  “This is all I can remember, but I had a life before…”

 

Lance recognized the words; he’d said them to himself many times.  But where he had questioned it, thinking it a dream, Sven’s words were firm, as if he _knew_.

 

The door banged open.  Startled by the noise, they all looked up, but did not release each other.  A small human cannonball careened into the room, all white face and huge eyes.  Still wearing his loincloth, Pidge tumbled into the water, sputtered for a split second when he surfaced, and reached out to his friends.  Lance smiled, and let go of Sven to hold an arm out to the boy.

 

Pidge swarmed all over him, arms and legs twining about him.  Lance had a fleeting impression of the small body quivering in his arms, of a voice sobbing breathlessly in his ear, “You’re all right!” Then Pidge was gone, clinging to Keith, then Sven, in the same way.  Keith managed to wipe away the guilt that had been plain on his face, and now he smiled slightly, touching Pidge’s head, the wet brown hair plastered to Sven’s shoulder.

 

“Of course we’re all right, little brother,” Sven said quietly, releasing Lance and Keith to wrap both arms around the shaking form against his chest.  Keith and Lance moved closer, to add their embraces.  “We’re fine…”

 

“No!” Pidge interrupted heatedly, without raising his head.  “You don’t remember… I saw… this morning… I thought you were going to die… all of you…” He buried his face in Sven’s broad shoulder and began to cry softly.  “I thought you were all going to die…”

 

Except for the lapping of the water against the lip of the pool and Pidge’s quiet sobs, there was silence.  Keith and Lance glanced at each other, then at Sven, who looked up from comforting Pidge.  _There was no way to make light of it_ , Lance knew, his heart heavy, _not if Pidge had been so scared._   So they said nothing, and tried to reassure him with their presence.  It was several minutes before his sobs subsided into hiccups.

 

All the previous times, they’d tried so hard to keep him from knowing how… brutally the sultan had used them.  Now, there was nothing to be said.  Somewhere, Lance found enough emotion to mourn another bit of lost innocence.

 

After a few more moments, he waded to the edge and pulled himself out to retrieve some soap.  “We’d better hurry,” he said quietly.  “She’s going to be waiting for us.”  He didn’t want to cut short their recovery time – he needed it as much as the others – but the sultana’s temper was uncertain at the best of times.

 

And this would certainly not count as the best of times.

 

While they lathered each other, towels and fresh clothing were brought in and laid on one of the benches against the wall.  Reluctantly, they rinsed and left the pool.  Pidge dropped his sodden loincloth, and immediately pulled on his clean one, as Keith reached out to dry his hair.  “Pidge, go back to the sultana and tell her we’ll be there in just a minute,” he said, swiftly finger-combing Pidge’s curls back from his face.  “She’ll be missing you.”  His fingers trailed lightly over the gold chain still about the boy’s neck.

 

“I don’t want to,” Pidge replied petulantly, sidling away from Keith.  His voice still held a note of fright as he continued, “I… I don’t want to leave you…”

 

Reasonably, Lance said, “Nothing’s going to happen to us between here and the sultana’s bedchamber, little brother.”  Pidge merely stared at him, eyes guarded and reproachful, and he shrugged.  “Well, please yourself.  We’re almost ready, in any case.” He dropped his towel and pulled on his loincloth.

 

Pidge surveyed them critically.  _I wonder what he sees,_ Lance thought as he tied back his mane.  _I wonder who he sees. Does he remember anything from before…?_

 

From before… what?  It was a question to which he almost feared the answer, even as he longed for it.

 

Keith shook some excess water from his long black hair, accidentally spraying Sven, who cursed inventively.  He grabbed Keith’s towel from around his waist and used it to mop up the droplets on his chest.  Keith shrugged, unmindful of his own nudity, and well aware of Sven’s short temper.  Lance noticed him, however, covertly drinking in the sight of their older companion as if he hadn’t seen him in ages, and he smirked, as Sven adjusted his loincloth.  Lance, too, admired Sven’s form, but it wasn’t quite the kind of body he preferred.  _A man slightly taller than Sven, more golden in tone, like Keith, very muscular and powerful, with dark hair and a shy smile…_

 

He shook his head.  Where had that come from?

 

 _There has to be something wrong,_ he thought, worried.  _I feel so… different.  I can’t remember ever feeling so…_

 

Keith shook his head, still trying to get his hair dry.  He managed to shower Sven again, and Sven glared at him.  Lance sighed.  _I’m not up to dealing with Sven’s temper tonight_ , he thought.  _And if Keith keeps this up, he’s going to be very unhappy…_

 

He heard a cough behind him, and turned to see that Pidge had looked away, fidgeting, his eyes closed, a flush suffusing his cheeks.

 

Clearing his throat again, Pidge said abruptly, “Let’s go.”  Keith quickly pulled on his crimson loincloth.

 

They filed out of the bathing room into the main chamber.  The guard leaning in the doorway to his waiting chamber stood straighter as they exited.  He was remarkable only because of his size; otherwise, he was the same as any other guard that had served in the sultana’s quarters.  He was slightly taller than Sven, but much more muscular.  Then Lance stopped short, falling behind Keith and Sven, and looked again more closely, frowning.

 

His ears seemed to buzz, and his earlier thoughts echoed through his mind.

 

Pidge had halted with him, and saw the direction of his stare.  “That’s the guard who brought you back.”  His tone was thick with distaste.  “He’s been on duty here today, too.”  He tugged hard on Lance’s arm to get him moving again.

 

Frown deepening, with a great effort, Lance tore his gaze away from the guard and looked down at Pidge.  He let the boy encourage him into motion.  “Brought _me_ back?”

 

Pidge nodded, hurrying him into the sultana’s bedroom.  “He carried you back at least three hours before other guards brought back Keith and Sven.” Once safely in the sultana’s chamber, he whispered, “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

 

Lance shook his head.  _I don’t remember anything about last night, after… But I still can’t tell Pidge that._   He forced a smile, and ruffled the boy’s hair.

 

“I don’t like him,” he heard Pidge mutter as he moved to the sultana’s side.  “He hurts my head.”

 

Puzzling over that remark, Lance followed him.  He knelt beside Keith and Sven and felt the sultana’s cool fingers on his cheek.  Even as her warm, honeyed voice washed over him, apologizing, he wondered at the jolt he’d felt at the sight of this guard.  A jolt… of what?  He couldn’t quite place it.

 

Then he understood what Pidge meant.  The more he thought about the burly guard, the more his head started to pound.  Knowing that the heavy footsteps behind him carried the object of his thoughts was almost too much.

 

“My lady, my relief is here.”  His voice was deep, rumbling.  Lance suppressed a shudder and closed his eyes.  He heard a rustle of movement behind him, as the guard bowed and departed.

 

Despite himself, however, he quickly looked over his shoulder to catch another glimpse of him.

 

 _Who is he?_


	3. Chapter 3

***

Sequestered as he had been for nearly the entire day, Harel’s headache had eased to almost nothing, though stray thoughts flitted through his head from time to time, too quick to hold on to.

 

Then he had seen the harem boys leaving the bath, and the pain had returned, nearly blinding in its intensity.  There was no way he could stand another minute.  _This has been a bad idea all around,_ he thought.  _I’m not doing this again._

 

The glare from the boy with brown hair… and the _look_ from the other… It was too much.  _No way…_

 

It was several seconds before he realized that there was someone standing in front of him, speaking to him.  He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

 

“I _said_ , I’m your relief.  What’s the matter with you?”  There was a soldier standing in front of him, scowling furiously.  “I don’t know what they did to you, but get yourself together, man.”

 

“Sorry.  I’m just tired,” Harel said truthfully.  “I stood a watch last night, too.”

 

“Was this a punishment detail, then?  Glad I came a few minutes early.”  There was sympathy in the man’s voice now.  “I’ll relieve you now, and you can sleep.”

 

Harel nodded, and headed for the sultana’s bedroom.  “I’ll tell my lady that you’re here.  They’re all in her bedchamber.”

 

His duty done, Harel staggered back to the bunkhouse.  Once there, he flopped onto his bed, groaning at the release of tension.  Almost immediately, much to his surprise, he fell asleep, finally too exhausted to do anything else.

 

However, it was not the deep, restful sleep for which he longed.

 

***

“This is all very well,” the hard, haughty voice echoed in the silent room.  “But give me a good reason why I shouldn’t just kill them outright?”

 

“Because, my lord, it would be much easier to be able to hand them over if this… Galaxy Alliance ever comes looking for them, rather than telling them they’re dead.”  This voice was female, low and sultry, coaxing.  “If it’s truly an alliance, they might decide to partisan the people of this planet, and try to free them from your father’s empire, especially if we abuse their men.”

 

“Hmm.  I suppose you might be right.  However, that doesn’t eliminate the problem, as, until that time, they will still be here.  Since Father conquered this world, its people have been less than receptive to us.  They mutter of their legends, and that robot.  If word were to leak out…”

 

A careless rustle of fabric.  “So kill one, if it worries you so.  Kill _that_ one.” Even while ordering someone’s death, the woman managed to retain the sensual quality of her voice.

 

There was an uncomfortable pause, and then boot heels drummed against the hard floor.  The man’s voice had lost much of its arrogance when he spoke next.  “So young… what a pretty child…” Then it rang out like steel on a whetstone.  “What happened to keeping them alive, Romelle?”

 

Another rustle.  “I was only trying to help.  You sounded nervous.”  The smile was clearly audible in her words.  The man growled.  There was a quick shuffle of footsteps.

 

“Enough.” A third voice cut in.  “I know a potion, a drug, that will steal away their will and their memories.”  It was an odd voice, clearly female, but of a much different genre than Romelle’s.  It was both young and old, soft and harsh.  “Permanently, if you wish.”

 

“That will do nicely, witch.”  The man’s voice radiated smug superiority.  “What good will the legends be if the outworlders who would act on them have no will or minds?  Excellent.  And they will still be able to amuse my lovely wife.”  A gasp.  “Oh, I know very well you want them as your playthings, my dear.  Your face is so easy to read.  You especially want this dark-haired one.”  There was a solid sound, a barely audible groan.

 

The groan made him open his eyes.  One eye.  The other was still swollen shut…

 

***

Harel sat upright in his bed.  He could still feel the pain from the bruises he’d felt in the dream, blinked as if his vision was still blurry from the beating…

 

 _He remembered the dream_.

 

Breathing heavily, he stared into the darkness, amazed.  _I remember it.  I was brought to the sultan’s palace with the harem boys… and they are outworlders, from this… Galaxy Alliance, whatever that is._

 

His heart still racing, he lay back down, and closed his eyes, hoping to slip back into the dream.  But he was too awake, too alert to fall back to sleep.  Cursing at the untimely recurrence of his insomnia, he rolled out of his bunk and pulled on his boots.  He carefully felt his way through of the lightless bunkhouse, and into the courtyard.

 

It was some time after the sun had set.  The air was chill, and he shivered, unaccustomed to the cold.  Briskly rubbing his arms, he crossed the unlit courtyard quickly, and entered the palace.

 

Once inside, he stopped, at a loss.  Habit had carried him this far, but now, he wasn’t quite sure what to do.  He couldn’t return to the sultana’s quarters; that would be far, far too suspicious.  After many long minutes of wandering aimlessly, he looked up to find himself in the sultan’s wing of the palace, right near the doors to his suite.  This was dangerous territory; if the sultan was in as foul a temper tonight as yesternight…

 

Or when he’d first come to guard the sultan’s wing…

 

Harel shook his head.  He didn’t want to remember that.  He hated remembering it, hated the way it made him feel.  He wished that he’d lost _those_ memories, even in addition to the rest of his life.  But they were the foundation on which he’d tried to rebuild his life, and he recalled them all too easily.  Quickly, he retreated, wandering this way and that, and found a small side door that lead outside, into a garden.

 

And the memory walked along with him.

 

***

 _Uh…_ The groan was just as much mental as physical.  _Where am I?_

 

Messages of pain came in from several areas of his body.  Once he’d determined which end was which, he opened his eyes.  The world was still dark, but he could feel he was lying on his stomach.

 

 _Oh, gods, I hurt_ , he thought dully, staring at his hand, merely because he could focus on it.  After a few minutes, the aches started to resolve themselves into particular parts of his body, and he couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

 

Most of the pain was coming from his head.  Slowly, he was able to convince one arm to move, and managed to touch the back of his head.  Lightly, but it was still enough to make him gasp.  Probing gingerly, he found a considerable lump, big enough to make him think that excessive movement would be a poor idea.

 

Rolling onto his back, while not excessive, set his head to spinning.  It was disturbing in another way, too, one that had to tortuously worm its way through his scattered mind.  He was cold, and wet.

 

 _I’m probably in a cell of some kind, though I don’t recall what I did.  Cells are always cold and damp._

 

 _Oh, really?_ another part of his mind countered.  _Why are you naked?_

 

He promptly fainted again.

 

The pain was still present when he groaned his way back to consciousness again, but lessened.  He was still disturbingly naked, but at least someone had had the decency to cover him with a scratchy blanket.  Unthinkingly, he sat up then had to fight with his stomach to keep from vomiting as his head whirled.  He leaned back against the wall, careful of the lump on his head, and looked about himself.

 

He was in a very small, very dark room.  There was no furniture, no windows.  The floor was hard-packed dirt, almost completely flat from use.  He and his blanket were the only things in the room.  He thought there was a door against the far wall, but no light leaked in around the seam, so he couldn’t be sure.  He closed his eyes; at least there hadn’t been as much pain when he’d been asleep.

 

The creak of rusted hinges made him open his eyes.  The movement of the door was a barely seen shadow in the rest of the darkness, and there was no light beyond the door to give shape to the form that entered.  He was suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable he truly was in that instant, no clothes, no weapons, hardly able to move, much less stand or fight.  If this person wanted to kill him, it would be so very easy…

 

“Awake, are you?” The voice came out of the shadows, and it was hardly reassuring.  He couldn’t tell if it was male or female at first, and it carried a harsh edge that made him shiver.  Then the figure coughed, and the voice was slightly smoother.  “Good.  You’ve been unconscious for some time.” It was a woman, he realized as she knelt beside him, though he could not see her at all.  He heard her set something on the floor beside her.

 

She prodded roughly at the lump on the back of his head, and he hissed, lights flashing in his vision.  “That hurts, damn it,” he protested weakly, trying to push her hand away.  He was as feeble as a kitten, however, and it did no good.

 

“Stop that,” the woman admonished, continuing her exam by touch.  His eyes crossed from the pain before she took her hand away.  He thought that she was looking at his face closely, but dismissed it.  It was far too dark for that.  Her fingers were cold as she felt of his face, and he tried to flinch away, but there was nowhere to go.  “You must be feeling better,” she muttered.  Abruptly she stopped trying to examine him and sat back.  “Very well.  Where are you?”

 

“I have no idea,” he growled.  “I’m in a dark room with no windows, I can’t see a bloody damn thing, how in the _hells_ am I supposed to know where I am?”

 

“ _Who_ are you?” He had the distinct impression that she was smiling as she spoke.

 

He snorted.  “That’s easy.  I’m…” And he stopped, because he couldn’t recall his name.  His name, his age, his home, his past… he could remember none of it.  His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

 

“You can’t remember, can you?  I was afraid of that.  The lump on the back of your head has taken away your memory.”

 

It was fully a minute before the words sank in.  “Will… will I get it back?” Even to his own ears, he sounded like a lost child.

 

“Only time will tell.  I have some clothes here for you, if you’d like to dress.” She picked up the bundle and laid it on his lap.  “Then I can tell you what little I know.”  He had a sense that she turned away, but couldn’t tell.

 

The shirt and trousers were unfamiliar, but soft, well worn, and fitted him well, so he assumed they must be his.  He managed to shimmy into the trousers without getting up, because he still wasn’t sure he could.  There were no boots or shoes, no weapons.  Somehow, that bothered him.

 

“Your name is Harel.  You are a member of the sultan’s guard.  You’ve been here about a month.  That’s about all I know of you before a night or two ago.  I’m not quite sure what sparked it, but there was a fight of some kind in the guardhouse.  Before Captain Yurak was able to break it up, you had taken quite a beating.”  Harel swallowed and nodded, forgetting that she would not see it in the dark.  But she carried on as if she had.

 

“Since no one could wake you, Yurak decided you were injured badly, and brought you to me.  I’m a healer, and I’ve been taking care of you for the past day.  I thought for a while that you weren’t ever going to wake up.  In case you were wondering, this is the cellar of my house.  I knew you were going to be sensitive to light for a while, and I didn’t have anywhere else to put you.  Now, I’m going to get you something to eat.” She climbed to her feet.  “You aren’t able to go anywhere yet.  When you are able to walk, you can go back to the guardhouse.  Just be careful for the next few days.”  And with that, she was gone.

 

It had been a week before he’d been able to resume his duties, and even then, he frequently suffered headaches of great intensity.  Yurak had assigned him night watches.  For some reason, few of the other guards would associate with him. 

 

He’d come to hate the dark.

 

He was making his round outside the sultan’s suite, when suddenly the door opened.  He’d grabbed for his sword, asking the man who stood before him what the danger was, but had been pushed inside instead.  He didn’t recognize the man, who had an odd grayish-blue cast to his skin, and shaggy blond hair, but knew that if he was in the sultan’s quarters so late at night, he must be a lord of some kind.

 

“And what have we here?” The voice coming through the dim red light of the braziers was deep and… forceful, somehow.  Haughty, proud, overbearing… commanding.  That was the word.  It was the voice of a man used to being obeyed.

 

It was the sultan. 

 

Harel immediately dropped to one knee and bowed his head, though this caused it to throb.  He’d never seen the sultan before, but had heard him described, and this man fit the description.  He was tall and well built, obviously not a man who lounged in his throne room all day.  His body was hard and muscular, much like the men in his guard, and he was reputed to be wickedly efficient with his blade.  But the most distinguishing features were the pointed ears, the long mane of white hair, now tied back into a tail, the serpent-like yellow eyes and the pale blue skin, the legacy of his father.

 

“My lord, I… I was merely standing my watch.” Harel didn’t know quite why he was shaking, only knew he was frightened, very frightened of this man.  “Have I done something wrong?”

 

The sultan straightened from his throne, and stepped off the dais to study him more closely.  “ _He_ is the one you found?” he asked of the blond lord, who had backed away after thrusting Harel toward the sultan’s seat.  The sultan’s tone was appreciative, and he smiled.  “Very good.”  Then he turned back to Harel, and somehow managed to soften his voice so that it did not echo through the chamber as he said, “Get up… Harel, isn’t it?”

 

Harel swallowed.  “Yes, my lord.”  He scrambled to his feet, then stood looking at his boots. “But, my lord, I’m supposed to be…”

 

“No, you’re supposed to do what I tell you to do.” Harel stiffened; the sultan’s tone had cracked over him like a whip. “And I’m telling you that you can guard me just as well in here as out there.   But right now, I don’t need you to be a guard,” and his tone surprised Harel, as it dropped into intimacy.  He looked up in shock, just as the sultan reached out to caress his cheek.  His fingers were cold.  “Right now, I need your body.” 

 

Harel’s eyes widened in a fear he couldn’t control.  The sultan smiled at the sight, his lip slowly curling, revealing very white teeth.  “I delight in my harem girls.  They dance for me, and they pleasure me very well.  But sometimes… I need the feel of a man’s body beneath me, rather than a woman’s.” He leaned in close to Harel, who had to force himself not to flinch away.  “Tonight… I need you.” And his lips covered Harel’s, a tongue that tasted slightly of wine sought entrance into his mouth. 

 

Before Harel could even react, the sultan’s cool hands had found their way into his shirt, and were chilling his skin.  He shivered, but found he could not pull away.  The sultan was as strong as he, and his arm was like an iron band across his back.  He tried not to gag at the tongue being forced down his throat, fought the urge to shove the other man away, more afraid of losing his life than his honor.  After all, everyone assumed he’d already lost that along with his memory, and the sultan was usually of such uncertain temper that he could kill someone without a second thought.  Though the sultan’s fingers warmed as they ran over his body, coaxing him to respond, all Harel could feel inside was an overwhelming heaviness, a sense that nothing mattered at all.

 

He let the sultan pull him into the bedchamber, and remove his clothes, let him position him on his knees on wide bed, ass high in the air.  He clenched his fists in the sheets and bit back a scream as the sultan tore into him.  Pain, fire-hot, lanced through his nerves, and he trembled at the intensity of it.  _Oh, gods, he’s big…_ Tears leaked out from the corner of his eyes as the sultan began to thrust.  Every stroke brushed against something inside that made him moan, something that almost made him forget the agony… though it was still there, even as the sultan’s hand wrapped around his suddenly erect manhood.  The other hand, gripping his hip, urged him to move back and forth in counterpoint.  Reluctantly, face pressed into the pillows, he did so.  The sultan moved faster as he began to rock.

 

With a wail, he exploded against the sheets, as the sultan groaned and shuddered behind him.  Still inside him, the sultan collapsed onto his side, drawing Harel with him.  His breath was hot on the back of Harel’s neck as they panted.  “Very good,” the sultan whispered, and pressed a kiss to Harel’s shoulder, surprising him.  “You can stay.”

 

 _That’s good,_ Harel thought, closing his eyes, _because I don’t think I can move…_

 

***

 _The witch,_ Harel thought suddenly, leaning against a stunted tree in the garden _.  It was the witch; that’s why she said…_ He looked around, shaking his head at the waste of water.  The sultan’s palace was built over one of the largest oases on Arus, but still.  He carefully picked his way through the beds of flowering plants, wondering where he was.  There were still lights on in some of the windows overlooking the garden, and he drifted that way.  _It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could remember more,_ he thought, _or if I had felt anything for him.  But I don’t, I…_

 

 _Lance? What the hell are you doing?_

 

He stared through the window in shock.  He’d found his way back to the sultana’s quarters, after all.  Slowly, he slumped to his knees, and was lost in a swirl of memories.

 

***

 _I hate this part,_ Lance thought, as he watched Pidge end his dance.

 

He hated it because he’d enjoyed it so much the last time, and he knew how wrong, how perverse that was. 

 

But the sultana was right in one respect; they did need to recover from their fears.  Even if they couldn’t remember exactly what had gone on the night before, they still knew things had been done to them.  And it had to be him, because Sven wouldn’t admit to having those fears.  _Sometimes,_ he thought, _I wish I couldn’t admit to mine._

 

He glanced at Keith, sitting on the large floor cushion next to him.  He was still a little pale.  Sven knelt on a cushion behind the sultana, wearing a scowl.  Pidge sat down next to her, panting.  Smiling, the sultana put her arm around him and said, “That was wonderful, Angel.”  She kissed his sweaty temple, then spoke over his shoulder.  “You may go, Alli.”  The girl with the drum nodded and rose to leave.  The guard by the door moved aside to let her pass.

 

The sultana then turned her eyes to him, and nodded.  He sighed.  After the first time the sultan had taken them away from her, she’d said to him, “Sweetheart, I need you to help Keith heal from what my husband has done.  Sven cannot help him; he’s far too dominant.  Keith needs a gentler touch now, like yours.  And I think it will help you, too.”  She’d lightly touched his cheek, smiling, and very prettily asked Sven to be her backrest.

 

He knew Keith hated to be put on display like this; he had admitted as much to him one night.  He’d been curled up in Lance’s arms in their sleeping room, letting out his frustrations.  “Why do I always have to be the one?” he’d asked angrily.  “Why can’t I ever sit out a turn?”

 

Lance had grinned in the darkness and replied, “Because the sultana likes your baby face.” It had earned him a half-hearted punch in the stomach and stifled laughter.

 

With that in mind, he slowly snaked an arm around Keith, and drew him against his side. Keith looked up, his eyes wide with alarm, but when Lance did nothing, merely held him, he relaxed, and rested his head on Lance’s shoulder.  He knew what they were to do; they’d done it before.

 

When Keith had become used to his embrace, Lance began lightly stroking his arm above the gold band, then eased his hand down to his side.  Keith jumped, then calmed again.  Leisurely, Lance maneuvered them so Keith was leaning sideways against his chest, between his legs, closing his lips over the threatening laughter as Keith’s hair tickled his neck.  “More comfortable?” he murmured, and felt Keith nod against him.  He let his hands roam over the other’s slim body, touching his hair, letting him adjust to their position.

 

When he felt Keith’s arms slide around him, Lance started dropping light kisses on his dark hair, then his face when he lifted it.  His lips barely touched Keith’s, and all the while, he stroked and caressed him, in a way that was only barely more comforting than sexual.  Keith reached up for a kiss, and Lance almost let his tongue flick against his lips.  _Slowly_ , he reminded himself.  _Let him be in control, let him decide._   Hesitantly, Keith began to touch him in return, fingertip caresses that tickled and aroused, and his mouth became more demanding against Lance’s.  Brushing long silky hair away, Lance trailed kisses down his neck, then up again when Keith stiffened.  “We won’t do anything that will hurt,” he whispered in Keith’s ear, so the others wouldn’t hear, making it look like he was nibbling on it.  Keith swallowed, closing his eyes, and tilted his head away.  His hands danced lightly over Lance’s chest, brushing his nipples, as Lance bent to kiss his exposed neck.

 

Keith’s hesitant touch aroused him, as it always did, but he forced himself to control.  Instead of pushing Keith back onto the pillow, he fell back himself, drawing Keith on top of him, a position he’d rarely been in.  Keith’s eyes were wide when he looked up, and Lance smiled, and gently pulled him down for another kiss.

 

Soft kisses became more aggressive, and Lance responded by removing Keith’s loincloth, and running his fingers along his stiffening member.  Keith trembled, and Lance wasn’t sure it was from pleasure.  He guided Keith’s hand beneath his loincloth, to his own manhood, beginning to stir.  For a moment, as Keith did nothing, he thought that he had pushed too hard, but then the still hand began to move, stroking him, and he shivered at the sensation.  Of its own accord, Keith’s other hand undid his loincloth, and flung it away.

 

It was only when he heard a pattering of footsteps that he remembered their audience.  To distract Keith, he rolled them over so they were facing each other on their sides, hands still caressing, excitement growing. Keith began to pant in his ear, and Lance was surprised to hear his own groans.  Suddenly, he was there, as was Keith, and Lance heard him gasp, felt him shudder, felt a sticky wetness cover him as Keith climaxed.  A second later, Lance reveled in his own release.  They lay there for a moment, relishing the feeling of completeness.   Then, smiling, Lance rose up on his elbow, and bent to kiss his partner.

 

***

The five of them stood gathered around the capsule and its contents.  The holo-bubble looped back to play its message from the beginning.  “I am sending this message in a desperate bid for assistance.  My planet is under ongoing attacks from an empire determined…” Pidge touched the switch and the man’s careworn features, old beyond his years, shimmered and disappeared.

 

Keith spoke first into the silence.  “How far out of our way would we have to go?” he asked thoughtfully.

 

Sven started, knowing what was on the other’s mind.  “How old do you think that canister is?” he countered, turning to Pidge.

 

“Hard to say,” Pidge replied, squatting down near it.  “I’m not quite sure what kind of metal this is,” he gestured, “but judging from the amount of pitting and scarring, I’d say it couldn’t be less than 25 or 30 years.”

 

“I see.”  Keith studied the container meditatively.

 

Throughout the message, Lance had stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.  Now he scowled and pushed away from the wall.  “Keith, you can’t seriously be thinking of going to this Arus?” he inquired in disbelief.

 

“Why not?” Pidge asked, surprised.

 

“You yourself said it was at least a quarter century old!” Lance retorted angrily.  “They’ve already either won or lost.  There’s nothing we can do _now_ , either way!”

 

“Another possibility,” Sven added in a calmer tone, “is that this message is a decoy.  What if it’s a trap?”

 

Lance, nodding, resumed his casual position against the wall.  “I agree.”

 

Pidge jumped to his feet.  “How can you say that?  Those people need help!” His young voice was filled with compassion.  He clenched his fists.

 

Hunk stepped forward and laid a heavy hand on Pidge’s shoulder.  Turning to Keith, he asked, “What do _you_ say?” He already knew the answer, but the others needed to be reminded that despite their close friendship, Keith was still their commander.

 

There was an uneasy silence as Keith considered each of them in turn.  He studied Lance and Sven last, and sighed.  Lance’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing as Keith ordered, “Let’s go.  Sven, set a course for Arus.”

 

Turning on his heel, Lance stalked out of the hold.

 

***

Lance followed Hunk down to the bridge when he went to determine if they had enough fuel for the side trip to Arus.  Keith had given them the next six-hour watch to stand, while he composed the report to Alliance Headquarters and Sven and Pidge were off.

 

Lance flung himself into the helmsman’s chair, sulking and fiddling with the controls.  Hunk ignored him as best he could.  Ignoring Lance was not easy, however, especially in the close quarters of the bridge.  There was a magnetism about him that drew Hunk almost in spite of himself.  But speaking to him before he could vent some of his anger would be asking for abuse, so Hunk wisely kept silent.

 

“I don’t like it,” Lance said finally, having exhausted the entertainment possibilities of the helm console.

 

Hunk sighed, still checking the fuel and running calculations.  “I know you don’t.  But Keith has made the decision, and we’ve got to go.”

 

He never heard the steps behind him, but suddenly, arms were twined about his waist from behind.  He could feel Lance’s slim body pressed up against his back, and habit let him relax into the embrace, though they were both on duty.  He closed his eyes, and brought one hand up to curl about the ones locked about his middle.

 

“I know.  God, I know it, and I’ll follow orders.” Hunk was astonished at the despair in Lance’s usually confident voice.  “But I have such a bad feeling about this…” He could only just hear the words whispered into his back, and his heart froze at the fear in them.

 

He turned around then, enfolding Lance in his strong arms as he did.  Lance’s blue eyes were bright, and then he buried his ashen face against Hunk’s shoulder.  “Such a bad feeling,” he repeated, muffled, shaking in Hunk’s arms.

 

“Hey, don’t say that,” Hunk said, worried.  He pushed Lance away just far enough to look down into his face again, and lifted one hand to cup his cheek.  Only half joking, he said, “You’re scaring me…”

 

Lance’s prescience was no joke.  He often caught flashes of danger that passed others by, and could not explain why he reacted just so in a situation.  There was also no explanation for why he did not always get the flash when there was danger.  For all that the rest of the team frequently teased him about his hunches, they usually listened to them.  But this time, Hunk knew, Keith would not.

 

Leaning into the caress, Lance closed his eyes and shuddered.  “Not as much as I’m scaring myself… We’re going where angels fear to tread, love, and I’ve never been so frightened…” When he opened them again, the blue eyes were dark, little more than pupils faintly ringed with color, and filled with fear.

 

Nothing Hunk did could comfort him, and neither spoke again until relieved by Sven and Pidge.

 

***

Opening his eyes, he stood and stared in through the window again.  Pidge had left the room, and Sven’s shoulders were tense as he sat motionless behind the sultana.  Lance was very gently kissing Keith, stroking his cheek.  Keith smiled up at him with something like gratitude.

 

 _Oh, Lance, you were right,_ Hunk thought.  _We’ve got to get away from here…_

 

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

***

 _He doesn't remember, he doesn’t, he doesn’t…_ Repeating the thought like a mantra, Hunk returned to the bunkhouse.  He had to get away from the sultana’s garden, from the view through the window.

 

Anger coursed through him, unfamiliar in its strength.

 

 _How can he not remember?_ The words forced themselves to the top of his mind.

 

 _The drug.  You remember what the witch said, about a drug? This drug that they can’t mix with alcohol?  It takes away their memories, and they’re on it…_

 

 _They’re_ not _on it,_ he suddenly realized.  His steps slowed.  _They’re_ not _on it, for the next few days, to let that other medicine work._

 

 _If I can just get to them again, if I can just talk to them, alone, without anyone around… I might be able to make them_ remember _…_

 

 _Make Lance remember…_

 

He fell back into his bunk, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.  His dreams this time were flooded with memories, as they settled back into his mind…

 

But he couldn’t feel the tingle of danger.

 

***

The small blond form slowly rolled out of the big canopied bed, careful not to disturb the figure that still slept there.  The frame creaked, very loud in the darkness, and the sultana froze stock still in the cold moonlight from the window, quickly glancing back over her shoulder.  Pidge made a small sound, shifted in his sleep, but did not wake.  She breathed a silent sigh of relief, and stood up.  As quietly as possible, she dressed and picked up her shoes, then tiptoed to the door.  It opened soundlessly, but just to make sure, she cast another look back at the bed.  He was motionless, and she slipped out.

 

Now she didn’t have to be quite so cautious, with the heavy door between her and her harem boy, and the rest asleep in another room.  She stepped into her shoes, and left her quarters.

 

Once in the corridor, however, she paused.  This was not a message she wanted to deliver, but if she didn’t, she knew the witch likely would, and that would undermine her position.  Before she could lose her resolve, she set off down the hall, making her way toward her husband’s suite.

 

It had not been easy for Lotor’s father to conquer Arus, she reflected, and it had been harder still to hold it.  The desert had been a natural breeding ground for resistance, and numerous rebellions had torn the planet further.  Zarkon, Lotor’s father, had systematically destroyed most of the native technology, reducing many people to starvation in the process.  It had not crushed their spirit, as he had hoped; it had only made them more determined to throw off their oppressors, unlikely as that was fast becoming.

 

After more than two decades of this, Zarkon decided that if he couldn’t beat them, he would join them.  He decided to marry his only son to the nearest female heir to Arus, and install him as sultan.

 

The ruler of Arus had been killed early on; his infant daughter had been taken into hiding, and no one could discover her whereabouts.  It was widely rumored that she had died, but there were other tales, saying that she still lived, and was planning to take Arus back.  Instead of sending men to look for this will o’ the wisp and be slain, Zarkon decided that the best alternative was the Crown Princess of the planet Pollux, Romelle.

 

Not for the first time since her marriage, the sultana cursed her ancestors for her royal blood.  The first sultan of Arus had had two sons.  The younger usurped the elder after their father died, and forced his brother to flee Arus.  The elder son and his supporters found a planet almost like Arus, and settled there, calling it Pollux, but always longing to return to their homeworld.  That was the legend passed down in the sultana’s family.

 

Of course, the Arusians had a different story, claiming that the elder son was cruel and evil, and the younger overthrew him to free the people from repression.  But, short of bringing out their own princess, if she still lived, they couldn’t deny that Princess Romelle was the closest female heir, and that if they continued to rebel, they were doing so against their rightful ruler.  Amid much muttering and resentment, the wedding took place, while the people hoped against hope that their greatest legend would come alive, and the robot defender of their world would rise.

 

And that was the reason why the sultana was creeping through the dark corridors of the palace in the middle of the night.  The people’s faith in their legends had never died, and they still believed that five outworlders would bring the robot to life.  While her harem boys were yet without their memories, there was still one loose end…

 

And what if he got his memories back?

 

The sultana stopped outside her husband’s quarters, and took a deep breath.  She always dreaded any contact with him.  Then she squared her shoulders and opened the door.

 

The dissonant music stopped immediately, and there was a harsh jingling of bells as the dancing girls halted awkwardly.  Surprised, the sultan looked up from pawing the one he held on his lap, and the girl took advantage of his distraction to slip away. 

 

Glowering ferociously, the sultan stood and stepped down off the dais. “This had better be good, wife,” he growled, advancing on her.

 

Smiling coolly, the sultana raised her chin and met his serpent-like eyes.  “Oh, I think you’ll find it interesting.”

 

***

It was a complicated ritual, and required all of the witch’s concentration.  Carefully, she opened her senses…

 

And felt something _snap_.  Automatically, she glanced away for an instant, seeking the source…

 

The backlash was intense, and clawed at her mind like a maddened wildcat.  She screamed.

 

***

Habit long ingrained brought Hunk awake as the sun rose.  For the first time since he’d been on the planet, he felt rested.  The other guards were still asleep around him, and the ones on duty had not yet been relieved. 

 

Wishing he still had his pistol, he grabbed his sword and left.  _It’s easier each time to find the sultana’s rooms,_ he thought, walking swiftly down the dim corridors, still cool from the night air.  _It’s early enough that the sultana and her servant should still be asleep, so maybe I can wake up the team… and bring back their memories.  I hope.  I hope they’ve been off that drug long enough…_

 

He tried the door and found that it was unlocked, unbarred.  _Of course,_ he thought wryly.  _Who would dare enter the sultana’s quarters without her permission?_   Slowly, he opened the heavy door, pausing to make sure he hadn’t been heard, then slipped into the main chamber.  The doors into all the adjoining rooms were closed.  He crossed quickly to the one to which Pidge had directed him the other night, and laid his hand on the wood.  _This one might be locked,_ he cautioned himself, and reached for the latch.

 

The careless swish of fabric behind him was his only warning.  Instinctively, he ducked to one side, and the sword whistled harmlessly past him.   _The guard!_ he thought, groaning at his own inattention.  _Of course, there would be a guard through the night… and he would hear my footsteps…_

 

Spinning around, Hunk knocked the guard’s sword away, and struck him hard in the midsection.  When he doubled over, wheezing, Hunk hit him again, on the side of the head.  The guard hit the wall with a thud and slithered down to the floor.

 

 _Lucky,_ Hunk told himself, staring down at the guard.  He realized that he was panting slightly.  _I was lucky.  Let’s see if it holds out._  Hoping the scuffle hadn’t woken anyone, he hefted his unconscious prisoner over his shoulder and carried him to the small room behind the drape, where he’d spent most of the day before.  There, he tore strips from the curtain covering the window, and bound and gagged his assailant.  Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, he stood and twitched the curtain covering the door aside just enough to peer out.

 

The chamber was empty and silence echoed loud in his ears.  Hunk sighed.  _No one heard us._  He was about to step back out and continue with his mission, when he heard the creak of a door.  He froze, and his eyes frantically searched the room.  There was a figure exiting the sleeping room into which he’d carried…

 

He blinked.  The gods were favoring him today, that was certain.  “Lance?”

 

***

Lance woke abruptly, feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all.  It was far earlier than he normally awoke; just past dawn by the way the daylight fell.  The sultana had dismissed them well after midnight, exhausted from the entertainment they had provided.  Pidge had been asleep in their chamber and Sven had carried him back to the sultana’s bedroom.  It was the special mark of her favor and his youth, that he was allowed to sleep with her.

 

Lance had known that the light footsteps running away while he and Keith had performed for the sultana had belonged to Pidge.  It always happened.

 

 _Something was wrong._   The thought filled his mind suddenly, with a clarity that was unfamiliar, but could not be denied.  _Something was wrong._

 

His dreams hovered elusively at the edge of his awareness, just out of his grasp, but closer than they had ever been.  It was even more frustrating than not remembering them at all.

 

Gently, he disentangled his limbs from Keith’s, trying not to wake him.  Sven slept alone, his back to them.  No, it was nothing in this room that had woken him.  He stood and padded quickly to the door.

 

There was no one in the main chamber, and he stopped.  He had expected… what?  Had he expected someone to be here?  And who? 

 

“Lance?”

 

The strange deep voice calling his name spun him around, startled.  He couldn’t believe his eyes when a guard stepped out from behind the drape.  It was _him_ , the one that had drawn his attention yesterday, the one that had made his head ache so.

 

Just the sight of him was bringing that pounding pain back, just behind his eyes.

 

The man was intimidating, tall and muscular, and Lance took a nervous step back, wanting…

 

 _Why is he smiling at me like that?_ Lance wondered unexpectedly.  _Why is he smiling at me like he’s so happy to see me?  I don’t even know him!_

 

The smile dimmed as the big man halted, realizing that every pace he took forward made Lance take one away.  “Oh, Lance…” The words were barely audible.  “You really don’t remember.  I was hoping…” 

 

After a moment, Lance found his voice.  “Remember… what?” _Why do I want to see his smile again?  Oh, gods, what’s going on here?_

 

Inexplicably, he felt better as the other smiled a bit shyly.  “Well, me, for one.  Who you really are, where we come from, why we came here…”

 

Lance’s heart started thudding hard against his ribs.  “You mean… you knew me… from before?” Hope surged up from a place he’d thought long dead, and he couldn’t keep the pleading note from his words, as he asked again,  “You knew me?”

 

“I… yes, I did.”  The man’s brown eyes were far away, looking in on a scene that seemed at once to be both pleasurable and painful.

 

Forgetting himself, Lance took a step forward, within the big man’s reach, but not caring.  “Oh, gods, tell me!” he begged.  “Please, you’ve got to…”

 

“Lance…” Were those tears in his eyes?  _And why do I want to just reach out and wipe them away, why do they seem to make my heart twist?_

 

“Are you all right?  Why are you…”

 

The man smiled again, and scrubbed at his eye with the heel of one hand.  “Oh, I’ve just missed you, that’s all.” He took a deep breath, and his voice didn’t waiver at all as he continued, “I’ll tell you anything it takes to make you remember.  The five of us – you, me, Keith, Sven and Pidge – come from a planet called Earth, many light years away.  We were sent by the Galaxy Alliance to explore this sector of space…”

 

The man’s deep voice was so pleasing to hear, so mesmerizing, that Lance almost couldn’t pay attention to his words.  But it was the words that made him doubt.  _It’s as if he knows my mind,_ he thought, growing afraid again _.  He knows how much I want that, how much I want that kind of life, rather than this…_

 

And the man seemed to sense his skepticism.  His tone became infused with earnestness, as if by his words alone he could force belief.  “We picked up this metal canister, and it had a distress signal inside, from here, from Arus.  You and Sven argued against coming here.  I guess you were right,” he said softly, the words directed more at himself than Lance.  “But Keith decided that we should come here.  If the invasion that the distress signal talked about was still going on, we might have leant a hand to the natives.  But he said we should at least come and survey the situation.  You didn’t even want to do that.  You argued with Keith that we should just get information from orbit, that we would be able to figure out what was going on just from radio transmissions and such.  I don’t know why he didn’t listen; maybe you fought too much.

 

“When we landed, we had only just gotten out of the ship when we were surrounded by soldiers. They attacked us, without even trying to determine if we were really hostile.  There were too many of them, and they overwhelmed us.   The next thing I remember is waking up in some kind of holding cell, feeling like I’d gotten the shit kicked out of me.  The sultan and the sultana were discussing what to do with us.  She was all set to have one of us killed, so we couldn’t reactivate this robot, whatever it is.”  

 

 _The robot?_ Lance blinked.  Alli had mentioned a robot, once, when the sultana was busy elsewhere.  She’d told the story like it was a fairy tale, and had stopped talking when the sultana appeared.

 

“Come on, Lancer, I know you remember.  She’s been giving you some kind of drug, but you haven’t had it for at least a day, _come on_!  Think!”  He reached out and put a hand on Lance’s shoulder, and seemed to relax when he didn’t flinch away.

 

 _A… a drug?_ Lance stared at him, wide eyed.  _The sultana would never…_

 

 _Wouldn’t she?_ another part of his mind demanded.

 

“That’s why I haven’t been here, they tried to give me that drug too.  I couldn’t take it, I’m allergic to it or something, I just threw it back up.  I can remember that, now.  The witch did something else to me, she had me beaten and then I think she hypnotized me.  I just got my memory back last night…”

 

“Did you now?”  Lance shivered; he knew that voice, dreaded hearing those commanding tones.  The guard paled and wrenched his attention from Lance to someone by the door.  As if the movement freed him from a spell, Lance turned, the man’s big hand falling away from his shoulder. 

 

The sultan stood blocking the door to the hall, arms crossed over his broad chest.  _Somehow,_ Lance thought _, he looks even more sinister by daylight._   The sultana stood just behind him, as if she had followed him in.  Her face held no expression at all, her eyes icy as she studied him and the guard.

 

“That is unfortunate.”  The sultan strode forward, and immediately a squadron of guards, led by Captain Yurak, appeared behind him.  The noise of their boots as they stamped in shook the floor.

 

Lance felt a heavy hand descend on his shoulder, and jumped.  He’d forgotten the man was behind him.  _And he hasn’t even given his name, he just expects me to know it,_ he thought, stunned by the speed in which everything was turned upside down.  The hand did nothing, just squeezed his shoulder gently, then the fingers moved against his skin, tapping in a pattern of some kind…

 

“Unhand him!” the sultana ordered harshly from her place near the door.  Immediately, Lance was released, the big hand lifted away.  “Lance, come here.”  The sultana was scowling, and inside, Lance cringed, but did was he was bid.  The sound of so many people breathing seemed loud in his ears.

 

Doors on either side of the room opened, and several tousled heads poked out.  Pidge peered out from the sultana’s bedchamber, while Keith and Sven stared at the scene in confusion from the harem boys’ chamber.  Alli stood in a third doorway, her hand over her mouth, and her eyes wide.  Her hair straggled around her face, making her look even younger than she already did.

 

“My lady?” Pidge’s voice quavered in the silence.  He took a step from the doorway.

 

The sultana held one arm out to him, and he entered her embrace.  Though she did not take her eyes from the guard, her voice softened as she said, “It’s all right, Angel.”  As if her gesture was a signal, Keith and Sven joined them, and they clustered silently behind the sultana, in her protection.

 

In the space of a few heartbeats, the big space explorer was standing alone.  Yurak glared at him fiercely and fingered the hilt of his sword.  The captain’s face bore dark bruises, probably from where the sultan had struck him, Lance thought dazedly _.  Oh, gods, what is going on?_   He wrapped his arms around himself, miserable and mystified.  Instantly, warm hands touched his back as Keith and Sven tried to comfort him.

 

The sultan’s bootheels rang on the floor as he advanced.  A few paces from the guard, he stopped, and demanded, “How did you kill her?”

 

“Who?” The guard looked confused.

 

“The witch, Haggar. You killed her in retaliation for allegedly taking your memories.  How did you do it?” The sultan’s voice was calm, almost uncaring.

 

He shook his head.  “I didn’t…”

 

Like a striking snake, the sultan lashed out with the back of his hand, but the guard was quicker.  He caught the sultan’s fist, held it away from his face with little effort, then let go.  The sultan was frowning now, unused to having anyone defy him.  The guard’s expression didn’t change, was still serious, but Lance thought he could detect a light dancing in the brown eyes.

 

Grudgingly, the sultan admitted, “You’re quick.  But not very smart; by killing Haggar, my father’s trusted advisor, you have brought his wrath upon yourself.  You should have made your escape while you had the chance.” His smile was unpleasant.  “Instead, you came here to talk to my wife’s harem slaves… of what?”

 

“They do not belong to you, or your wife,” the guard declared quietly.  “They are my teammates, my friends, and I couldn’t leave without them.  I couldn’t just kidnap them, either.  They remember nothing about their former lives, so I had to try to convince them.”

 

Lance closed his eyes, fighting hard to control his tears.  This man he didn’t even know cared about their worthless lives enough to risk his own?  _And… and everything he told me before the sultan and sultana came…Gods,_ that _is what I have imagined so many times, what I have wanted with all of my soul._ He heard Keith gasp beside him, and knew he was just as effected by the words.

 

There was a rustle of fabric as the sultana shifted in front of him.  Light footsteps pattered away.

 

“And did you?” The sultan spun on his heel, to look at the harem… at him, Lance knew.  “Did he convince you that you were more than just a toy for my wife’s amusement?”

 

How he hated that mocking voice.  He hated everything about this place, hated what it had done to him…

 

“Lance?” Keith nudged him, and he started.  He needed to respond…

 

 _Deny everything._

 

The suggestion came from nowhere, popped into his head.  He knew if he said anything other than what the sultan wanted to hear, he would die.  He was certain that the space explorer would die, too, no matter what.

 

“No, my lord,” he whispered, every nerve in his body screaming that he was betraying the man who had taken such a chance.  He stared at the floor, not wanting to see the hurt in those brown eyes.  “He spoke of… of fantastic and impossible things, my lord.  He… he must have lost his mind.”  He glanced up then, to see the sultan nodding in satisfaction.  Beyond him, he saw the explorer smile very faintly, as if approving.

 

 _He knew,_ Lance realized suddenly.  _It’s what he wanted.  That’s what he was trying to tell me with the tapping…_ He closed his eyes, trying to find his balance as his mind whirled uncontrollably.

 

He remembered that they’d developed the tapping code as a contingency for trouble.

 

Getting teased for his “trouble warnings”.

 

How strongly he hadn’t wanted to come here.

 

Deep brown eyes gazing at him as if he were everything…

 

The sultan’s carrying voice brought Lance out of the swirling feelings.  “Refresh my memory, Yurak.  The penalty for murder is what?” He never took his yellow eyes from his intended victim.  The big man matched him stare for stare.

 

“Death, my lord,” Yurak hissed, his black eyes flashing triumphantly.  There was a muffled gasp from the sultana.

 

“So it is.” The sultan affected surprise.  “Take him.”

 

In a flurry of motion and sound, the squadron of guards that had been waiting impatiently behind Yurak surged forward, attacking the lone man, who had no hope of holding out…

 

Except he did.  Dodging, punching, kicking, bellowing an ululating war cry, the explorer fought back.  Yurak and guards reeled back from his blows, but came on again.  Watching the battle, Lance found himself panting from trying not to interfere.  His palms itched as he clenched his fists.  At his side, he could hear Keith’s breath coming faster as well, and he felt Sven shudder behind him.  He caught his breath as the man cried out then turned to strike the man who had cut him.

 

 _Hunk, Hunk, Hunk_ … repeated itself in his head, unable to connect…

 

“Oh, _gods_.” The sultan drew his sword with a whispering noise.  Lance straightened in sudden alarm, took a breath to call out…

 

Keith elbowed him sharply in the side.  When he turned in astonishment, he saw Keith’s eyes were filled with tears.  _No, Lance,_ he mouthed silently.  And he knew, and damned the fact that to help the man in any way would mean his own death, what the man had wanted to avoid…

 

Carefully, the sultan advanced on the battle, his eyes never leaving…

 

 _My lover._

 

 _Hunk!_

 

 _I. Remember. Everything._

 

All at once, he was himself and he burned with shame as he recalled all of the things he’d done with Keith and Sven for the sultana’s amusement.  _Oh, please don’t hold it against me, Hunk,_ he thought despairingly _, because I didn’t know…_

 

He was whole…

 

Then he was in pieces again.

 

Hunk heard the footsteps behind him, and turned… and the sultan’s blade found his body, piercing him deep.  Lance bit his lip hard to keep from screaming.  He could see the metal tip protruding from Hunk’s back.

 

It was done so quickly that Hunk didn’t even have time to cry out, just to make a small gasping sound.  Blood soaked his white shirt, blood dribbled from his lips.  The light in his eyes slowly faded, and he slumped, sliding gracelessly off the sultan’s sword.

 

 _Oh, gods, oh, Hunk…_ Lance wanted to turn away, or to cry out but forced himself to watch.  _I must,_ he thought, numb.  _Not watching will cheapen it somehow…_ The sultan yanked his sword free with a grating sound as it caught on bone, and he shuddered.

 

“That was pathetic, Yurak.” Kneeling, the sultan wiped his blade on a clean bit of Hunk’s shirt, then stood, stepping almost absently over the spreading puddle of blood.  “Pathetic! He was alone!” The sultan backhanded the captain.  “Take it away,” he ordered, gesturing negligently behind him.

 

Slowly, Lance became aware of the sound of sobbing.  He managed to tear his eyes away from the guards picking up Hunk’s _oh, gods, Hunk_ body.  Pidge had buried his face against the sultana, and his thin shoulders were shaking.  She was stroking his hair, but her eyes were fixed on the doorway in which Alli had appeared.

 

“You let them watch, Romelle?” The sultan stood before his wife, glaring at her disapprovingly.

 

She shrugged, still soothing Pidge.  “If they did not remember during that, they will never remember.” She returned the sultan’s glare.  “Now get out.  I didn’t intend for you to confront him here, and certainly not to kill him and leave such a mess.” Lance closed his eyes, teetering on the edge… Only Sven and Keith’s arms kept him from falling.

 

Snorting disdainfully, the sultan stalked away.  The sultana resumed watching the doorway, and when Alli reappeared, she relaxed slightly.  The chamber was now deserted, except for their huddle.  Turning slightly, she pressed Pidge into Lance’s unresisting arms, then walked quickly over to where Alli stood.  They conferred quietly for a moment, then the sultana left in a swirl of silk and gauze, her veil fluttering behind her. 

 

Alli approached them. “You remember now, don’t you?” she asked, her voice soft.

 

There was silence for a moment.  Lance spoke, his voice hoarse.  “I don’t know about them, but _I_ do.” He met her eyes.  “And I don’t want to forget.”

 

She smiled sadly.  “You may not have a choice.  On the sultan’s orders, my lady gave you a drug that took away your memories.  Shortly – today, tomorrow at the latest – your body will start craving that drug.  Haggar led the sultan to believe that it was a spell, or a complex mixture, but it is actually a simple brew from a few common herbs.  I know how to make it.” She held out a glass carafe, almost full of a milky liquid.  “When you start to feel ill, I’ll give you some.  It will take away your memories and spirit again, but that’s how my lady has been able to keep you alive.  If your friend had been able to take it, he’d be alive, too.”

 

Lance turned away, but Alli continued.  “You haven’t been on it because it reacts badly with alcohol, and with the medicine the sultana gave you yesterday when you were sick.  When that medicine has cleared out of your bodies, you will be able to take this again.”

 

“No.” Lance pulled away from Keith, from Pidge and Sven as they tried to hold him.  “I don’t want to forget…” He fled into their sleeping chamber, fell on his knees and wept hard, clutching a cushion.  _Hunk…_

 

 _I’m not going to forget again._

 

***

He was shivering from cold and sweating from fever.  His belly cramped painfully.  His body was wracked with dry heaves.

 

 _You may not have a choice_.  Alli’s words echoed through his skull, now sad, now mocking.

 

Opening his blurry eyes, Lance focused on the small glass Alli had set on the floor, some distance from him.  It brimmed with that milky liquid.

 

 _No._   He closed his eyes again.  _Hunk died trying to make me remember.  I’m not going to…_

 

Keith had followed him in… yesterday? The day before? and held him as he cried.  He could recall that, could still feel his throat raw from the harsh sobs.  Crying for what he’d lost, and what he might lose again…

 

Another spasm shook him, each wave of agony harder to bear than the last.  “Oh, gods…” he whimpered.  It hurt so much…

 

He opened his eyes again, watching in fascination as his trembling fingers reached for the cup.  It sloshed as he picked it up unsteadily.

 

 _Oh, gods, just a little, just to dull the pain…_

 

He sipped.

 

 _I’m sorry…_

 

Fin


End file.
